Song of the Siren
by cclee123
Summary: Based on the youtube music video Black Dahlia by TheLoveandHeartbreak. A young mariner is ordered to retrieve the supposed "mystery maiden" who stole his prince's heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay. To me, there are two types of Disney. The first is the commercialized, "fun-for-the-whole-family image" you tend to see on a toddlers bed sheets and lunch boxes. It's innocent, and it's cute. The second is the authentic, researched retelling of classic literature, history and folklore. The very adult content seen only as part of innuendo's in your favorite Disney films. What I plan to do with this story is almost completely forget the former and focus entirely on the latter. While I will incorporate both Ariel and Jim's temperaments as accurately as possible, it'll still be pretty compromised. Most of Jim's back-story, for example, comes from Treasure Island. Also. I don't claim to be particularly good at the art of storytelling. Although I'd **_**like **_**to be, so reviews are MORE THAN WELCOME. I'm also contemplating putting this on deviantart. Yes? Maybe ol iesnoth might like. ;) Oh, and lastly, as a suggestion. The songs I choose at the openings of each chapter are what I feel sets the mood. Highly recommended.**

**Anyway, enjoy. **

"_And I go where the trees go_

_And I walk from a higher education_

_For now and for hire."_

_-Joanna Newsom, En Gallop_

The first signs of daylight crept across the forests of the island of Zealand, a soft glow of orange, warm and gradual, behind its mountain face. Cool lavender submitted to the rising red hues of dawn, the sun barely visible underneath its watercolor frame.

The trees were coming to life through the animated correspondence of its inhabitants, the spring birds chirping gaily amongst overhanging branches. They soared to and fro, engaging in the ritual of flirtation so common to the season, twirling and soaring with fleeting contact. Their movement brought about the descent of tiny drops of moisture, remnants of the previous nights storm.

And slowly, the sunlight's timeless influence set in on the world below.

The youth opened a bleary eye, the other shut tight from the impact of a stray droplet. He groaned, palming the hanging curtain of his hair from his face and surveying the newly lit scenery of his surroundings. Though beautiful, though tangible, it was not the place he'd visited only moments before. He'd been dreaming.

_A fireplace. The smell of whisky and old leather. The bustling activity of disgruntled lodgers. His mother, barking orders so as to sustain the establishment._

_His mother._

The young man rose to his feet, all at once awake from the morning dew of the early hour. He inhaled, taking in the scent of pine, birchwood, and the neighboring seashore, unprepared for the drastic change of setting. His previous dreams were all but evaporating, the present sight, and the reality, of his whereabouts indisputable proof. The trees, the air, the _soil…_ _Yes, _he thought, if only for the hundredth time, _I'm far from home. _

He took a small step forward, willing the blood to once again circulate throughout his body and do away with the stiff motionless of sleep. His heavy footfalls made their mark, and he hoped, albeit fleetingly, that eventually he would stop returning to the image of what he'd left behind. The night previous had been one of solitude and discovery, after all, the remains of both a fire and meager meal to show for it. Surveying the quiet scene spread out before him, he sighed, eyeing the rabbit carcass and blackened pile of ash that'd once been a roaring fire.. This new land was rich with wild terrain, and the time afforded for several moments of complete privacy. Despite the persistence of homesickness, this land was good to him.

He progressed through the underbrush.

He'd write to them, after all. He inquired about Dr. Livesey, the timid regular at he and his mother's beloved Admiral Benbow Inn. And the youth couldn't help but feel a tug at the corner of his lips at the thought. The doctor was as brilliant as he was socially inept. He would puzzle over fabricated theories, pouring endlessly into texts long since rectified; prove to the rest of them the sheer beauty of discovery…and all but fold into himself at the prospect of rejection.

Thank God for his wife, Amelia, and her assertive influence. The woman truly was the missing piece to an undeveloped genius.

His mother, to be sure, was always to be counted upon. Her son's departure did nothing to dissuade her optimism, or her uncanny ability to describe the Inn's mundane tasks with nothing short of hilarity.

If ever there was a woman who could turn a pirate's brawl into a heartfelt exchange of wedding stories, it was Sarah Hawkins.

The Danish palace could never be the embracing familiarity of Bristol, however. Compliance and accordance were seldom his shining virtues, the traits of a brash young man of 17 in their stead. As a result, he hadn't taken part in the royal festivities just the night before. Rather, he'd taken to the woodland just outside the palace walls.

He remembered watching the departure of the celebratory ship at nightfall, the pomp of this alien countries society toasting their glasses to their princes 28th birthday. Fireworks lit up the night sky. The raucous cacophony sung drunken, improvised appraisals. An enormous gift, the tell-tale shape of a statue, was situated on deck amongst the celebration like a pagan idol.

All of this, he supposed, was irrelevant to his purpose here. He'd come to be a sailor's apprentice, gaining experience by means of the Danish trade route. This role had been his to fulfill for, it seemed, his entire life. But the prospect of gallivanting on an evening cruise with the aristocracy, however close to his duties, was made all the more unattractive by the seemingly passive evening tide. They would hardly need him on that night.

But let it not be said that James Pleiades Hawkins was as sound of judgment as any. Not long after the commotion had died down, after the excitement had settled and his routine longing for the comforts of home subsided did he hear the first, low rumble of thunder expand over the horizon. So he'd taken cover, situating himself in a thicket of briar deep in the heart of the woodland. From overhead he watched the skies quake and the sea escalate to monstrous proportions. He watched gulls flying frantically overhead; lightning, sending even the sturdiest of creatures into hiding.

But for all its menace, like any weather, it was over. The sun was making quick work of the reparations. The creatures resumed their natural pattern. And here he was, strolling aimlessly, approaching the dividing line between the forests end and the beaches opening.

_Nothing _could've prepared the young traveler for the sight that awaited him.

There, sprawled and seemingly lifeless on the beach, lay the handsome prince of Denmark. His crisp, navy breeches were torn; his white cotton shirt was soaked and translucent. Not a detail stirred on His Highness's countenance.

Lying intimately at his side was a creature.

James squinted.

A _woman. _

Undeniably a young woman, deep, crimson curls dripping over her naked shoulder, her cherubic face beaming at her unconscious captive. Her graceful hands traced shapes into his face, picking stray locks of ebony carefully away.

The on looking young man edged closer, pushing branches aside.

Her breasts were covered with an assortment of colorful shells and seaweed. He blushed, for he'd never seen so much bare flesh from a woman in his 17 years. Her waist was tiny; an hourglass physique; lending her what _might've _been the lithe figure of a dancer. Her skin was a perfectly contributed pallor, seeming to be both palest pink and blush underneath white.

He blinked. He blinked again. A third time.

Where her navel ended, began the scales of a fish, shining silver in the morning sunshine. It extended along her petite form, making her the height of a pubescent girl. And there, at the very end, was the undeniable sight of a glossy fin. It seemed to curl around the bare feet of the prince, moving this way and that the way a cat's would.

She continued to preen, and as James reached the forest soils end, he could hear a soft melody omitting from the sea nymphs lips.

It spoke of discovery, longing, timeless and knowing as the Earth itself. The haunting sound was both melancholy and loving, attempting ever so subtly to arouse the prince.

She dipped her head, hesitant but daring to touch her forehead to his, her little nose making the slow descent to contact.

Her lips pursed..

James lifted a foot, leaning his entire frame into the will to see everything..

He felt a fallen branch snap under his boot. The creature froze.

The moment was gone. Eternity disappeared. What replaced the reverie, the heady, triangular seduction of the last few minutes, was its undivided attention on her trespasser.


	2. Chapter 2

Several moments passed in which the only discernible sound was the oceans waves slapping against the rocky shore.

His lips parted, his legs shook. The will to utter a sound, make a gesture, was growing ever smaller in his mind. It nearly paled in comparison to the simple idea of continuing to stare, to watch this seemingly exotic, _fictional _creature all but regard him. It-her- tail swished calmly along the sand, making gentle patterns in its wake. Beside her, the prince remained unconscious.

Her expression was not one to suggest imposition. It was altogether distant, instead seeming to look through him to the forest and sea beyond. Her delicate brow was furrowed, the tiniest crinkle between perfectly arched eyebrows. The slight breeze swept at her deep, maroon hair, a strand catching at the corner of her parted mouth.

It was her gaze. The way she seemed to hold him, to have every possible element of the Earth at her disposal. This nymph, who moments before could be found fawning a handsome man now, quite fixedly, locked eyes with a boy. It unsettled him. It nearly unhinged him. He didn't want the thought of something primordial, something he'd come to know through slurred sailor's tales, to analyze him with this sort of intensity.

He'd known of her kind, after all. He'd known immediately. Anyone who had a decent grasp of the trials of sailing in his chunk of the world did. Treacherous creatures. Fabled hybrids of the sea, neither woman nor fish, intent on the destruction of seafaring men.

_Their song meant an end to all who heard it. Your last thoughts grave foolishness. Remember that, laddie._

But such rumors, oftentimes, were chalked up to heightened recollections of mere skirmishes with prostitutes. The sailors who darkened the doors of his tavern, however, were too proud to admit such.

And yet he hadn't moved a muscle. But then why, (despite the relentless fear that at any given moment his surroundings would envelope him) did any of this seem so unassuming? He was in complete possession of his form. And even the choice to remain firmly planted was executed in undiluted decision.

She cocked her beautiful head and adjusted her position, detaching herself from His Highness. Meanwhile, he'd begun the faintest signs of a stir, his own hand clutching her ghostly finger like an infant, the very finger that not a moment ago had been exploring the expanse of his face.

And it was then that she opened her mouth to speak.

James' breath caught in his throat. She was forming words. Inaudible words, with the grace of an incantation, meant directly to him. Only to him. Her eyelids lowered, her silent speech slow and deliberate. He could make out her lips evoking the words indulge, father, and time .

_Time._

The word hung between them, washing away with the morning tide.

Her lips pursed before smiling, as if she'd been holding back the simple desire to until now. It was both knowing and girlish, this smile, and so terribly private that he took a step backward. Something had transpired; he knew, something both hypnotic and inviting, pulling the young man forward. And yet he couldn't decide with clarity whether this compulsion was his doing or hers. Every sense of his human anatomy was crying out for him to leave the shelter of the trees, to come forth and advance toward the sea-maiden.

It could mean death.

It could mean uncharted bliss.

A deep, burning sensation tugged at his heartstrings and grazed along his chest to his throat, constricting like a solid firebrand along every private inch of flesh. She tilted her face to look down the bridge of her nose at him, as if to suggest the slightest edge of impatience.

He dislodged his heavy boot from the soil..

She looked away from him.

Lumbering along the embankment, barking madly, was a black and white shape. Trailing close behind it was the unmistakable sight of a man. James knew this man to be Grimsby, the prince's manservant and trusted confidant. No doubt he'd been anxious to retrieve his missing charge. He switched his gaze anxiously to the prince to find a glimpse of a fin, the splash of sea water, and the slow ascent of Prince Eric, newly raised on shaken legs.

And she was gone.

_Too close, _he thought, before collapsing onto the dirt. In all his short years, he'd nearly forgotten himself.

Fredensborg Palace was in a state.

Word spread like wild fire about the devastation of the celebratory ship, and the questionable survival of their prince. Speculation by means of whispered gossip passed from lady-in-waiting, to servant, to peasant alike, each fabricated and not the least bit founded on the original party.

_I hear he's taken ill._

_To be expected, the poor dear. Imagine! Awash at sea!_

_Yes, but if he were to _die…

_You bite your tongue!_

_I'm only pointing out that…_

_Yes, yes. Frederick would ascend to the throne. _

_And you imagine. A prince that could bring us an heir. I fear the time has passed for the former. _

_Just the same…_

_And have you heard? Word is floating about that he's besotted with a spirit!_

_A spirit? You're mad._

_Truly! A ghost. Some sort of sea manifestation or other._

_Impotent and unsound .Long live King Christian VI, then, I say._

The sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard in the hallways as the palace inhabitants went about their morning. It was the sound of squabbling advisors, four agitated men intent on the sudden and suspicious behavior of their countries prince. The impending news was to be confined in absolute secrecy, and a meeting was called in His Highnesses study at the earliest hour.

"Absurd-"

"Outrageous-"

"Do you realize what this means? The entire kingdom could be-"

And on their chatter progressed, the tightly knit group of aged men making their way across the dimly lit corridors. Servants pressed themselves to the walls so as to allow them passage; Washerwomen hid behind cracked doors so as to catch snippets of potential gossip.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen…Calm yourselves. We're here." Grimsby grinned, stopping at their appointed room and opening the door.

And one by one, the bemused and thoroughly harried were escorted into the modest study, Grimsby the last to enter. Among the company was His Majesty the King's closest attendant, his young son, the prince's eldest brother, and Grimsby himself.

He closed the door behind him, smiling good-naturedly and winking at the prince, whom only moments before was staring dreamily out the window. At the arrival of his attendants, he straightened, visibly anxious.

He crossed to the center of the room, folding and unfolding his arms. The air, he knew was pregnant with a scathing skepticism. He would have to maneuver delicately.

The prince of Denmark swallowed the lump in his throat and cleared it. He looked about, finally meeting the piercing gazes of all present. _Best to start on comfortable ground._

"Gentlemen," he began, laboring to feign confidence, "yesterday I was a Royal bachelor presiding over his 28th birthday very much aware that I, as of late, am yet to marry."

The tiny court cast dispassionate glances at one another. "Yes," one indulged.

"Yes, well…" he bunched a handful of his petticoat into his fist and twisted. "This morning…I announce.." blinking rapidly, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them, looking to Grimsby for support.

"Go on Eric," he grinned, "tell them."

He huffed, dabbing at his forehead with a laced handkerchief. "I announce that I have found my bride-to-be. Not only that, but our countries future queen and mother to the heir."

"Have you now?" ventured one of his captive audiences bloodlessly.

"Indeed."

"Well!" exclaimed Prince Frederick. "This is marvelous news. We must celebrate at once!" He looked about, imploring mutual enthusiasm.

Eric beamed.

"And what," pressed the King's Attendant," are we to call this most privileged of women?"

"I…" began Eric, who'd in an instant lost a shade of color.

"Precisely the reason for this meeting, Charles," interjected Grimsby, strolling to the flushed Princes side. "As of late, we have yet to know. Eric claims, however, to have a fool-proof description of the young lady."

"I…," Eric started, all but strangled.

"Well don't you know?" The prince shook his head slowly, searching his attendants' expression for an explanation.

Grimsby bent his head to speak into his ear. "The young foreigner," he whispered. "I spotted him not moments after my discovery of you. If this, ah, mystery lady exists as you describe, he'll know."

The older man pulled away.

"Bring him to me. Immediately."


	3. Chapter 3

From between his inquisitive grip, the relic shone in the new morning light.

He sat at his cot, erect. For several moments he could be found in just this way, precisely this way, a fierce glare of intent upon the seemingly insignificant piece of metal. A strange sight for the bustling passerby, to be sure. But left to his company he most assuredly, and always, was.

James traced it's engraving, running imploring fingers along it's subtle grooves. He thumbed the inscribed face, the rusted material; the tell-tale fatigue of history tossed from seaman to woman to child for millennia's the world over.

_A mermaid, she was, _he mused. _A bloomin' mermaid. _He shook his head slowly, a small smile of exasperation and wonder playing his lips as he held up the object to the sun.

It bore the image of Melusine, the fabled water spirit of his mother's childhood bedtime murmurings. Her face, lovely but stark; her hair flowing and intertwined with her serpents tale in sea dwelling fashion. It gazed back at him serenely; and in it's rust and primeval nature he saw the sea maiden.

The creature'd not left his thoughts for an instant. He'd scrambled, not unlike a whipped dog, pathetically to the palace walls; seductive sea women, unclean sights and unholy notions fast at his heels. The prince was surely seen to: he'd fled, undetected.

And upon his return, it was with a touch of dismay that he noticed it's occupants to be in a frenzy of sorts, bustling about from one room, corridor, level, to the next; women catching skirts for a 'quick word'; respected gentlemen confining themselves to pockets of dimly lit space; _children, _even, boasting for a quick glimpse of the famed sea spirit; for what other nature could cause such a stir, than the prince's curious encounter? The foppish royal must've given such a feverish telling to his manservant, long before gaining complete consciousness.

It wasn't until he'd evaded the swift motions of aforementioned activity that his suspicions were confirmed.

"He's besotted with a spirit," whispered one to the other.

And at last, exhaling roughly, he'd leaned against his quarter's' door, slumping to a sitting position.

_Spirit indeed._ James shook his head, agitated. No doubt the entire company was dismissing the rumor as complete lunacy. Sheer proof of madness, even.

And what concern was it of his?

He reclined further onto the cot, giving his relic a lazy regard. The nape of his neck slapped at the goose-feathered coverlet and he released a sigh, arousing the attentions of a sleeping terrier.

The beast whined, gazing up at his master.

"Sorry, Morris," he murmured, brushing his pets wiry mane. "Mermaids," he chuckled. "Upon my word, if I'm not a raving madman." The dog licked at his probing fingers, nuzzling it's forehead into his grasp.

His grin widened. "What are we to do with ourselves, then, aye? Lounge about while schemin' sea witches plot our doom just outside these walls?"

It whined once more, and the youth amusedly added with a sigh "Only jokin' ol boy."

_Bloody sea witches._

_Bloody sea nymphs._

_Bloody, pretty, girl creatures._

And yet what bewildered him most was her resemblance to the young women he'd known. Despite her translucency, her deformity, her girlish grin seemed indubitably human. And perhaps, it was this amiable countenance that was, in itself, so deceiving.

_Imitate land-folk, lad. That's how they get ye. _

He thought back to her addressing of him, her unworldly song, the chanting..

His own body's visceral reactions.

_Bless our Father Who Art In Heaven, as Mum would say._

It was upon these musings that the rapping at his chamber door nearly went unheard. He bolted upright; Morris barked; in all his time here, his keepers had never sought him directly, least of all given the early hour. Curious.

But before he could make his non-committal reply, his door was open, and in swept His Majesty The Prince's own manservant.

James regarded him sullenly, moving not an inch for the esteemed official. Foreign land, or no, the boy bowed to no one.

"James Hawkins of Bristol?"

"Aye, sir," he replied flatly.

The elder man must've nodded, for there was a moment of brief silence.

"I'd advise you to remember yourself lad, and your present circumstances. Poor manners will not do."

The younger man rose to his feet wearily, hunching himself in the most ungraceful of bows. _Oh, if Mum could but see me now._

And, immediately, Grimsby laughed. It was an awful pitch, this laugh, to be confused with the choking of a dying man. But warm, in it's way.

"Rise, my boy! In my company you need not bend your back."

James produced a grin, straightening. "Thank you, sir." He shifted. "Your business, sir?"

Grimsby wiped a stray tear from his eye, refusing to relinquish his amusement. "Yes, yes. His Majesty the prince requests an audience. The events of this morning, you recall."

"Yes," James muttered, nodding.

"Between you and me," he continued, leaning forward, "I'm counting on the whole thing being a load of tripe."

And at this, he could give little more than another, feeble nod.

Chattering scarcely ceased from Prince Eric's study. The anticipation was palpable; potential accusations were set to launch at any moment. His Highness, for his part, maintained a distance in which to both cower and glower expectantly at the door. The perspiration beaded his forehead mercilessly; his drying clothes confined him; if the foreigner made him out to be a fool..

And lo, his dear caretaker returned, a disheveled youth to accompany him. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of the boy, sagging clothing, unsightly hair, enormous boots caked with mud. Remnants of this morning, no doubt. _How long has the filth traipsed my corridors?_

James surveyed the small accommodation, recalling the use of the term _audience. _He found himself to, indeed, be the sole spectacle at present. A pack of peacocks gazed back at him, prim and powdered members of the Swedish monarchy. Men in stockings, breaches, carefully placed wigs, feathered garments, frilled petticoats, and one of which, (he noticed with a slowly parting mouth), held a pearled fan. Ruby lips pursed in anticipation. He didn't think he could help himself.

The youth dipped his head, exerting to stifle a smirk. At this, he heard a fan flap rapidly. He choked.

"Mr. Hawkins," one began. "Were you not to be found at the palace shoreline at dawn this very morning?"

"I do believe, Excellency," he replied, forcing his features to smooth. He studied the speaker.

He recognized him as the young prince. Smooth, ink black hair in favor of custom wig; bluest eyes and forlorn features. He carried himself with a harried air; timid and scrutinizing. The air of the utmost privileged; the prejudiced air of high class society. Royalty. His was a weak featured face and build, hardly suitable for sea or warfare. And immediately he knew, despite any and all encounters to precede, that he could not like this man. Something predetermined in the cosmos forbade it.

So he chose to amuse himself. "What of it?" he inquired innocently.

"Recount everything you might've witnessed," the prince breathed. "Did you happen across me? Was I alone?"

"I did indeed spot Your Majesty." James paused for effect, playing with the unfolding telling. "Aye, you were in quite poor shape. Are you well?"

"Well enough to know when I'm being trifled with. Tell me, boy. Tell me about the woman."

"A woman, sire?"

"Yes, a _woman. _A young maiden."

"Is that so?"

Eric huffed, exasperated. "Careful. Foreigner or no, you will show the-"

"Enough of this," the prince's brother, Frederick, snapped. "We've regretted to mention to Mr. Hawkins that compensation for cooperation is in order." He looked to James smugly. "Surely your lot can be persuaded? We need only a description, after all."

"I do remember a someone with His Highness. I only fear that the details may be _severely _disappointing."

"How can they be? The fair that I laid eyes on was a rosebud to be sure!"

"If both our accounts be true, Highness, then I'm sore to say that you're mistaken."

"Are you to have me believe I was rescued by a hag? A hallucination? Do you due accuse me of madness?"

"By no means. Only that your rescuer, as I've seen, is not the woman you believe it to be."

"What is this? This 'it'? Tell me."

The young Englishmen scanned the room, observing his instigated suspense. The fate of a country, he knew, was surely sabotaged with a few, well chosen words. They were his alone to deliver. "The thing that I beheld was indeed a woman, but only by half. You see, Highness. She bore the tail of a fish."

Prince Eric began to laugh quietly, and turned to his group to inspire a following. None such was received, not even from Grimsby, who looked at him questioningly.

And so he turned to James, horror stricken and swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Can you be sure?" he whispered meekly.


	4. Chapter 4

From under loose ringlets and heavy sentiment, Madame Sarah Hawkins bustled about her establishment. She wiped her soaked brow with her wrist, sniffing back the crisp, seaside air, and wondered, if not for the hundredth time, if her only child was in good health. Tedious times, these were, at the Admiral Benbow Inn, and the older woman was left to her variety of tasks with weary detachment.

Her Jim had been away for far too long, she'd decided. But not long enough, her council had reasoned. Bidding him goodbye in search of prominent standing was the best her aging heart could manage; with her husband's departure, she saw only to impart a means of escape, by any circumstance. The boy had yearned to be away, to test untested waters; to be rid of her neurotic compensation, her doting. He needed to find his own way.

She sighed inwardly, and looked about her. She didn't remember she was carrying a handsome stack of filthy, used plates and silverware, or that the disgruntled lodgers tucked to the right had chastised the Inn's service most unjustly; that children wailed and old seadogs roared. She hadn't thought to tend to the kindling or the boiling stew. She hadn't even noticed when dear Dr. Livesey had led her by the small of her back onto the foot of the stairs for a small word. Her attentions were several hundred miles away, to a place green and blue and yellow, painted with images of yore; of her and her child. When his hands were small, and his teeth, new. This was her center; this was the place Sarah had created in the stead of Leland's absence and Jim's resignation. Mottled with warm texture and soft light, it was every exertion to remember herself.

"Sarah, dearest," the timid older gentleman persisted. He shook her shoulder, felt her forehead. "Do come to."

She blinked, and her heart descended back into her chest. _Stupid woman. _ "Terribly sorry Doctor." A small, embarrassed smile played her thin mouth, and her enormous blue eyes flicked every which way but his. "Carry on?"

"Right," smiled Livesey, excited to have roused her. He licked his lips and grinned. "I thought it prudent to call yonder ruffian to your attention. T'would appear he's been at attention near the door frame for some time. Frightful chap, if I do say so."

She looked to the Inn's entrance tiredly. Lo, indeed, stood a man, occupying the threshold with purpose in his gaze. He was ill composed, filthy, and not the least bit assured in his posture, darting attention to every possible corner of the Inn's interior. Upon Sarah's weary regard of him, he nodded the very spirit of hopeful expectation.

"Thank you Doctor," she muttered, cursing him, cursing the Fates, and every sordid event leading up to this. She could feel the conspiracy emanating from him behind her, on her back, in her mind, searching. Though exceptionally handsome, and still of appropriate age, not a man dared to call on Sarah Hawkins, the recently scorned wife of Black Hill Cove. To her own company she kept, and not a soul could pry.

It was the Cove's greatest mystery, the recesses of Mrs. Hawkins weary heart.

She pushed past inquiring faces, gently tucking in chairs for passage, a winning smile pasted to her features.

_The fool._

_The dog._

_To hell with the treacherous ways of man. She'll have his head. Just see if she wouldn't._

"Sarah, darlin,'" he breathed, his entire person erect and at attention.

_Just see if it doesn't adorn the fireplace at supper. _She fixed her black gaze on him, summoning malice and contempt.

But his watery blue, filled with compassion, would not be dissuaded. Not today.

"Ya'r cross. I unners'and," he began, bending himself to be at her eye level. " Boot I had'da come. I had'da see fer meself."

"See…" she whispered, her brow furrowed.

He indicated to her belly with his eyes tactlessly, a huff of breath escaping him. "Bess not tuh play games, love. I 'magine I don't have long here." He extended a calloused hand to touch her cheek, met with sharp recoil.

"How dare you? You have as long as you like, provided you pay. This is an Inn, Brion, after all, and I, its mistress."

He fixed her with a perplexed expression. "Ye be a sturdy lass, Mrs. Hawkins. Ann'a woman of fire and brimstone, besides. I'm no wee peacock of respectability, but if yu'll hear my pleas, I'll leave with all due haste. "

"Your pleas."

"Yes. I come on unsettled business, ye know."

"I can't pretend to know what you mean."

"Sarah. Please."

"Do you seek lodgings, sir?" she inquired audibly, looking to her left and right. "Need you a place to sleep for the night? The accommodations are adequate for the traveler, and- "

He took her by the shoulders, raking her ever closer to severe scandal. _Oh heavens. _"Enough. You will hear me, by t'under, one way or the ruddy o'der."

"Come to my establishment, will you?" she uttered, low. "Demand my time, my attentions, for what?"

"You need only tuh look tuh yer inconspicuous belly fer the answer, Madame."

She made to shove him away; his uncouth appraisal of her person was unforgivable. Brute that he was, he would not bend. She whirled for retreat, suddenly and severely confined by the corset that bound her. She couldn't abide another moment under the scrutiny of her lodgers, silently placed on trial for the judgment of the community. They were making their summations, fashioning stories, she was sure. And how she knew him.

He would follow her.

"It's mine, we know it!"

"Mary and Joseph," she hissed, coming to a halt near the bar's entryway, one foot placed on the stairwell. He must be silenced. He will not leave.

Sarah looked to the fireplace, remnants of the previous night's fire all but oppressed under the weight of the ashen soot. Neither a flicker nor a faint glow could be found in the hearth-grave of black and grey. It was lifeless, destitute, riddled with the remains of kindling and other such refuse.

The fire was tamed.

Her Jim has gone, following Leland in his stead. What was she, now, but an aging woman with only the company of strangers as her pleasure? Who was this man, if not her last taste of Eden before the Lord himself came for retired soul?

"I make my request to ye." The gruff vibrations of his voice sent chills up her spine, and she felt, renewed and unbridled, the familiar lust that surely gave way to abandon.

"Give me what little y'can. I ask not fer the position o' neither husband, nor doting replacement of father fer young James. My desires are altogether more respectful."

"What could you want, Brion? It's an affront to God, to our virtues, what we've done. I ask for forgiveness every day, d'you see?"

"Let me help ye with the birth. I want to see him fix his bleary eyes on me before I'm away. I want him to see his da."

"I can give you that," she whispered.

"I know how much yer standing means to ye. Man o' my station could never sidle up to the likes o' ye, widow or no."

"Oh, Brion." She turned; water welled in her enormous cornflower blue eyes. "Dearest. Were it not for my willful son, for the shame of this cove, I should be yours."

He rocked on the balls of his feet, letting silence and the soft murmur of the Inn pass between them. He chewed his lip, searching the floorboards intently. When he returned his gaze, tender smile under his beard, a child shone under the man before her. "What's t'say I can't correct both accounts?"

"What?"

"I'll make acquaintance wit yer boy. I'll move us tuh Ireland. Yes. I'll leave at first light for Sweden, collect him, an-"

"How will you journey to Sweden? Foolish man, that shall take a month's time at least!"

"I have m'ways. A sailor's love y'have after all, Madame."

"He won't take to you. He bears resentment for anyone seeking to replace his father."

"Then I'll let him shine t'me on his own terms. I wun tell him who I be."

"And deceive my son?"

"Trust me."

"Very clever of you, to have my own court question the integrity of my character."

The tremor in the royal's voice was heard only by his captive audience, lurking in wait for the slightest retort. With extreme haste, His Highness had dismissed the attendants, his brother, and the elder manservant. Now, facing the studies window and glaring out into the expanse of his country, Prince Eric of Denmark fought to remember himself.

"She bore the tail of a fish," he recited, torn between a bitter chuckle and the urgency to choke on the words. "My, my." He did battle with choice words, parried and blocked the proper terminology to punish the impudence of adolescent boys. He was royalty.

"What is your name, Englishman?"

"James," the boy answered flatly.

"Do you not understand, James, what you have done?"

"His Majesty will have to pardon me. I fail to comprehend."

"I have just approached my 28th year. In no time at all I will be demoted from the position of high ruler of this country. I will be second."

"How terrible."

"Yes, well. You come to my kingdom seeking education, to learn a trade, yes?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"And your accommodators have provided you adequate lodgings so that you might endure your stay comfortably?"

Jim licked his lips. "Yes."

"And so I ask you, does a young boy of 15, far from home, with nothing to his name, with the manners of a conniving rat have the luxury of destroying everything supporting him?"

"I am 17, sire."

"17."

"Yes."

"Tell me, boy. Young as you are do not sabotage yourself."

"I speak nothing but the truth. My mother insists on such virtues."

"Your mother.."

Jim shifted awkwardly in his chair, having trained his eyes to the carpet's pattern for the entirety of his interrogation.

"How long has it been, James, since you've seen your mother?"

"Too long."

"I could make it very easy for you to see her again. Perhaps arrange for her to stay in the neighboring village."

The young man looked to the prince. The prince turned from the window, leaning his forearm against the pane.

"A clue. Anything that might bring me to her. Come now, I see the loss in your eyes."

"I swear by the Almighty God. This girl; this thing. It was nothing you and I have ever encountered."

"A fish."

"Like the creatures of lore."

Prince Eric nodded vigorously, his eyes crazed and feverous. "Enough of this. Then you will go to her. Seek her out. You're a sailor, are you not? And in return, I will have your mother delivered here, once Denmark makes this creature its queen."

**A thousand apologies for the wait with this one. I've been away from reading, and thusly, writing for a while now, and coming back to it is never easy. I'm very much the perfectionist and I'm still sort of shaking my head at this chapter. It's up to you guys to decide. **


	5. Chapter 5

In the years marking young master Hawkins' steady pilgrimage to manhood, he found it conducive, necessary, to fashion a face; a concealment of the deterioration of his will. An infallible expression, chiseled and etched with strict resentment and surliness. A father's impression, he remembered, had been denied him at the age of 9, too old to deny grief, sufficiently young to accept hard resignation; a mother's love, all too easily trampled when concerning adolescent despair; and the entire world laid bare for his disdain.

Cooperation would not be acquired; the young man could not be moved, and so it was, at the behest of the pompous royal's proposal, that he would turn his face to one side and snort derisively.

The hours waned.

The priceless chandelier above their heads shuddered.

The attitudes of the tried men were torn asunder under the weight of their Prince's preposterous proposition.

For the entire duration of the afternoon since, his Lordship's company had dismantled both their dignity and secured offices to give way to his demands. Presently, they presided over a littered pile of maps and courses to narrow the search surrounding Sweden's waters. They muttered to themselves, strained to indulge their predicament. For his part, the prince could only pace and dab his forehead absently.

All at once, inquiry sliced the air.

"Are we truly poised to indulge such an enterprise?" The prince's eldest brother started lowly.

All remained bowed.

"Is this what a kingdom of our benevolence has come to?" he continued, his pitch quivering.

The King's attendant dipped his wizened head and coughed into the handkerchief.

Eric himself crossed the foyer to the stained glass window, forearm bent and rested on gleaming art. For what could seem to be several moments the entire company was suspended with the weight of something beyond absurdity; leaps ahead of a country in peril; it was reason and sanity, morality and faith, all sporadically dancing in the electricity of the room; all could hear, none could reply.

"We are fortunate to be in a state of neutrality. Our imports are plentiful. Be that as it may, this kingdom has championed mediocrity from within the walls for far too long. We cannot, _cannot _endure another year without the promise of an heir."

Jim preened, as joyfully as the siren.

"And this," Christian speared a shaking finger at the cowering younger prince, "this _scandal _has _doubtlessly_ reached the corridors. "

Silence progressed.

His regard whizzed from one mournful countenance to the next.

"_Speak, you sheep!"_

Grimsby, sage and support, rose.

"What you say is indisputably true. Immediate action. A course to chart. Dear Christian, beloved child, allow Eric, myself, and the young foreigner leave to sort this. A man's condition," he uttered slowly," is wise kept within bounds." He advanced on the prince, holding his gaze. For a moment a secret translation, imploring but authoritative, passed between young and old. Christian could only maintain the exchange for mere moments, before tossing himself to the side.

"I will not fight for this." His eyes shone, his brow knit.

He strode midway to the center of the study, eyeing Eric contemptuously.

"I will not fight for you."

_His eyes, _Jim grinned, _the dog's eyes can scarcely stay in his bloomin' skull._

With this, the eldest prince fled. Attendant and his son followed suit, casting bloodless glances at their country's dimming hope before solemnly shutting the door.

The lock clicked into place; Grimsby came alive. "I don't know what you'll have us do, you foolish boy," muttered the old man, to whom, neither could guess," but action is indeed vital. _Creature_ or no, we must have a queen."

Huffing, he turned away from them, absorbed in systematic thought. He stopped at the study's shelves, scanning the impossibly thick, leather bound volumes intently. They came to height thrice the size of him, and he craned his entire elderly frame to appraise it. He hummed to himself, an old Danish tune, becoming all at once a charming young schoolboy in the presence of collected literature. "You're in luck, Englishman," he informed with what might've been a twinge of humor. "Your very own Alexander Pope has only recently taken the liberty of translating the celebrated _Odyssey _to your native language. As it happens, I have it in my possession. For Eric's sake, this could prove useful."

The old man perched his foot onto a shelf for balance, extending one shaking hand to reach a topmost volume. "'Creatures of lore', indeed," he muttered, seizing it hastily; a hefty crimson text with, Jim noticed warmly, engraving in his beloved English.

"Homer's _Odyssey, _sir?"

"How does this serve my cause?" snapped Eric.

"Dear boy," the old man began," I'm not so sure _anything_ could quite serve your cause. So long as the court is given the impression you are mad, it behooves us tread the outermost waters." He winked to Jim, thumbing open Homer with a licked digit. The idea that the prince's manservant could find amusement in such a predicament confounded Jim; but also, immediately warmed his heart.

_This be the sort of man I can trust._

"While we're on the subject, Herre Hawkins," Grimsby spoke loudly, starting the youth, "I'd strongly advise improved conduct on your part. As before mentioned, you're no longer in Bristol. Your off-putting demeanor is an imprudent disservice. "

"Aye."

"I speak solidly. Given the transpirations and condition of the morning, we're in a state."

"I understand."

"Indeed," piped the royal, to which his charge shot a grave expression. "Indeed," he repeated quietly.

"The sirens of Anthemoessa; the island of flowers." He cleared his throat, reciting; "'First you will come to the Sirens who enchant all who come near them. If anyone unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens, his wife and children will never welcome him home again, for they sit in a green field and warble him to death with the sweetness of their song.'"

"How sweetly she sang," Eric exhaled. "A bird in twilight; a crimson cardinal. Hear me, Grimsby. It was as if the sea itself beseeched me."

Jim grimaced. _A sea devil. The poor sod._

"'There is a great heap of dead men's bones lying all around," Grimsby went on, "with the flesh still rotting off them. Therefore pass these Sirens by, and stop your men's ears with wax that none of them may hear.'"

"Preposterous! She meant no harm; she meant only to possess my heart. A frail cherub, she was; no more harm than a child!"

"'But if you like you can listen yourself, for you may get the men to bind you as you stand upright on a cross-piece half way up the mast, and they must lash the rope's ends to the mast itself, that you may have the pleasure of listening. If you beg and pray the men to unloose you, then they must bind you faster."

"_No!"_

Jim witnessed the exchange passively. _He dares to tangle with water fool, this unfortunate spirit._

"I indulge this at the request of your father, child. Your happiness is my responsibility. I entertain this charade, you must know, to fulfill that sole purpose."

"Right!" His Majesty gasped. "Hear my words, witness my soul! You are my father before my own, you must orchestrate this."

"I must? If you mean to scour the sea, search the waters, _you _enlist the necessary crew. _You _organize the course. You are headed for the Tyrrehenian Sea, it looks to be, an exceedingly difficult inclination. Our forces will not back such a venture; you know this. Regardless, my part in this is to distract his Majesty, and maintain the composure of the court. Suppose the lady exists, breathes; you will find her."

Eric eyed young Jim. "For your mother, boy." He was, the youth noted acutely, meek. "For your mother, your trade, and your pride. Help me."

"My pride and your affairs are not compatible, Majesty."

The prince soured. Jim thought, imagined, in sporadic fever.

"But.."

_The alabaster flesh burned in his mind's eye. The delicate slope of her tiny shoulders; her soaken, tangled hair; the eyes of unadulterated delight at once and intense scrutiny the next. The monstrous glisten of her scales at dawn._

_Indulge_

_Father_

_Time_

_He feared it._

_He loathed it._

_God could not possibly have overseen her creation. _

"But I will help you."

_But she had taken hold of his foolish nature._

"We seem to've come to an impasse, your grace."


End file.
